


not a fake cue so far

by pixiepower



Series: you in viewfinder [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, M/M, Polyamory, Seemingly Unrequited Pining, They love each other, Youtube AU, picturing lee seokmin in scrubs gave me heartworm, things are easy and that’s what makes things hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: It’s what it’s always been.It’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung, and Seokmin and his camera.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Seokmin | DK, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Yoon Jeonghan, Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Series: you in viewfinder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717456
Comments: 13
Kudos: 137
Collections: Soonhan Extravaganza





	not a fake cue so far

**Author's Note:**

> title from “fun!” by fromis_9
> 
> written for the 2020 soonhan extravaganza! love you, lianne. this one’s for you.

_DK TRIES: MOVING VLOG + NEW APARTMENT TOUR!_

“Hyung! Where’s the other roll of bubble wrap?”

“Is it not in the kitchen?” Jeonghan’s voice calls from the bedroom. His bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. 

Seokmin wrings a clean dishtowel between his hands and hollers back, “I just finished that one. The other one.”

“What other one?” A beat, the measure punctuated with the sound of packing tape. “The cups can use the newspaper instead, right?”

 _“Mn,”_ Seokmin grunts loudly in reply, and stares down at the box full of shitty first-apartment glassware, bubble-wrapped to death with three glasses still left on the counter.

Maybe he should just lie on the floor. Maybe it would have been worth it to hire the movers with the box package. 

Seokmin feels like he’s melting. Eomma had said not to move in the middle of July, but their lease was ending and this seemed to line up, what with their new rent being so reasonable, considering, and the AdSense trickling in. Along with his job at the dental office, Seokmin is hawking VPNs and wireless earbuds in his videos now like a real boy, and if he’s going to be in a room by himself again he can pick up a greater share of the rent, and Buam-dong is awfully pretty, and the block has almost as much green space as his family’s house back in Yongin-si, and he just. 

He can’t imagine Jeonghan and Soonyoung not coming with him.

So the week-long ache in his limbs and all this endless sweatiness will be worth it, because Jeonghan had tried to downplay how his face lit up at the photo of skylights in the living room in the listing but cooed at Seokmin anyway, hands squishing at his cheeks and nose pressing against his, and because Soonyoung is a whole bus line closer to the studio.

And unfortunately Soonyoung is dripping with sweat, too, the column of his throat glistening, fanning at his ribs with the moving-company pamphlets. His muscle shirt is more armhole than cotton, his obliques cut from marble, and Seokmin is grateful for Soonyoung’s closed eyes and the probably-a-bad-sign grinding noise of their oscillating fan. Sighing, Soonyoung is rocking back and forth in the entry to the tiny living room, shifting his weight between his feet to follow the air instead of fussing with the switch to turn off the oscillation.

He has a fading mouth-shaped bruise on the side of his neck. Seokmin has been trying not to notice.

Jeonghan is stretching when he comes out of the room, using the inside of his foot to push a box, bright orange paper label stuck to the outside, across the fake-wood flooring. He doesn’t look like he’s even broken a sweat, the white shirt tucked into his basketball shorts immaculate but for the slight pink tint at the back of the collar. The pink has faded and he’s mostly blonde again, but there’s a spot under the back of his ear that’s still fairy floss.

“Seok-ah, you’re sweaty,” Jeonghan complains even before both of his arms wrap around his waist and his face buries itself in the back of Seokmin’s neck. “My sweaty baby.”

Seokmin uses the corner of the handtowel to flick at Jeonghan’s hands where they’re belted together over Seokmin’s stomach. Anything to distract from the butterflies Jeonghan is undoubtedly able to feel through the few centimeters of fabric and skin and fat and muscle.

“Me too!” Soonyoung whines, the chop of the fan blades making his voice sound robotic. His feet pad quickly along the floor, and suddenly his face is squished against Seokmin’s shoulder. “Me too!”

Jeonghan groans. “Soonie! Two of us can’t be sweaty.”

“Three of us should be sweaty!” Seokmin corrects with a laugh, contorting his neck to make eye contact with Soonyoung.

“Yeah, Hannie,” Soonyoung says, shooting Seokmin a conspiratorial grin.

It moves quick, the way Soonyoung loosens Jeonghan’s grip and lets Seokmin shift, and then Soonyoung is sparkling up at Seokmin from over Jeonghan’s shoulder, and Jeonghan’s face is scrunching up at the feeling of two sweaty bodies sandwiching him, and they’re all so close together, three musketeers, as ever. It’s a messy arrangement of limbs. The fan is whirring mournfully, Seokmin is laughing, and Jeonghan squirms.

“Just because I don’t turn into a puddle like you two doesn’t mean I’m not working hard!”

Soonyoung’s lips land on the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth. “You’re right, hyung,” he giggles again, and catches Jeonghan’s mouth in a real kiss, his eyes crescents and his cheeks pushed up in a smile that Seokmin can see from his profile. Soonyoung lets out a satisfied little hum, his hand sliding up Jeonghan’s arm and resting on his chest, back bowed to cradle into him a little while they kiss, sweet and slow.

Heat flares up Seokmin’s cheeks and he ruffles both their hair before sidestepping out of their reach, back into the kitchen toward the half-packed box.

Unwrapping the cups, he wonders if it would be easier at this point just to buy new glasses. To move forward, instead of trying to bubble wrap something that might be more trouble than it’s worth. But these were the first things that were _his,_ chosen by him, bought with his money, and Seokmin knows he’s nothing if not sentimental.

In the next room Soonyoung gasps, hissing something under his breath, and Jeonghan’s low coo responds, a playful little smile to it. Seokmin tries not to listen for his name, tries not to let himself swallow when he hears it. They’re almost drowned out by the fan. Almost.

Seokmin is startled by the firework _snap-snap-snap_ of the strip of bubble wrap popping, wrung tight between his hands like a dishtowel. In his surprise he slams his knee into the handle of the cabinet under the sink, muffling a shout in his forearm. Times like these he’s glad that he isn’t actually always filming, contrary to what everyone thinks.

Maybe he should roll himself in bubble wrap. Protect himself. Seokmin runs his thumb over the rows of burst bubbles, the paper-thin recycled plastic of them. Probably wouldn’t work anyway. He’s too clumsy for that.

“Hey, hyungs, I’m just—ah, just going to go to the store, pick up some more bubble wrap. Better safe than sorry. Maybe get something for dinner. More Pocari, too.”

“Okay, Kyeom-ah,” Jeonghan lilts, hand on the nape of Soonyoung’s neck. “Thank you, love you.”

Seokmin waves with his free hand, phone strap and keychain dangling from the other, and Soonyoung blows him a kiss as the door closes.

It’s what it’s always been.

It’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung, and Seokmin and his camera.

_•_

_DK TRIES: REWATCHING HOME VIDEOS AND OLD STUFF FROM MY CHANNEL! 🙀 CUTE BABY DK! AWKWARD TEEN DK! IS IT CRINGE?_

_Seokmin, age four:_ The first taste of a lens Seokmin ever gets is his appa’s old Handycam, a round, chunky, matte-silver Sony thing that looked to Seokmin the same as pirate treasure, more valuable than doubloons. The big feather plume had fallen out the day he got it, but the hat is still askew on his head. They say a pirate’s first love is the sea, but Seokmin thinks he’s found his in the blinking red light at the top of the flip-out monitor.

He sits by the tv when the tapes come back, too close, nose almost brushing the console table, and stares at himself onscreen. 

Two-weeks-ago Seokmin is singing nursery rhymes with his sister, bellowing at the top of their little lungs, a princess and a pirate in chorus. The next clip, after a buzz and a click on the tape, she’s crying on the sidewalk in the background, but Seokmin is still singing, just quieter, giant eyes in his giant little head giant with worry, and he sprints over to her skinned knee and broken fairy wand. 

He lays his hat at her feet, and starts _Nabiya_ instead, over and over until her sniffles subside and her voice is laugh-wobbling over _jjaegjjaegjjaeg,_ too.

“Wave to Eomma!” their father says from behind the camera. 

Featherless cap on her head after the next cut, Seokmin’s sister giggles at their father and waves to their mother on the stoop behind him, but Seokmin looks directly into the lens, cheesy grin splitting his whole face open.

_Seokmin, age eleven:_ There’s a moving truck in the driveway. Well, not a moving truck _exactly,_ but a vehicle wherein there is a huge pile of furniture precariously balanced on the truck bed. The wood and laminate looks tied together with twine and a prayer, and no sooner does Seokmin fumble with his digital camera than a voice chirps from behind him.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, God!” Seokmin honks, grateful now for the little cord wrapped around his wrist as his whole body twists to get a look.

“No, Kwon Soonyoung, ‘96,” says a face like a lantern, golden in the afternoon, round, with a nose that twitches every time he talks. He has to look up at Seokmin a little, but his chest is puffed out, and his stance is solid.

Seokmin blinks, letting his brain catch up. Soonyoung is holding a bright orange binder with Beyblade stickers all over it, and, oh, he looks expectant. “Lee Seokmin, ‘97?”

“That makes me your hyung!” Soonyoung crows, looking pleased. “What’s that?” he repeats, tilting his head toward Seokmin’s hand.

“Oh, uh, it’s my camera. Well, I have to share it,” Seokmin says, gesturing vaguely to his sister’s room where her purple curtains flutter in the window.

“Is that your sister?”

“Yeah. I like noona though!” Seokmin hurries to say, because a lot of boys his age are not really friends with their sisters. It feels like it’s worth mentioning. 

Soonyoung nods vigorously. “I have one too! Minkyung-noona! And a baby—“

“—not even a baby anymore,” Minkyung corrects over her shoulder, carrying the same lamp that Seokmin’s sister owns, some lilac-colored fold-up thing. Minkyung’s is covered with stickers on the base. The Kwons seem to be a very sticker-fond family. Seokmin likes that.

He also likes the way Soonyoung is grinning at him, the enthusiastic way he talks making Seokmin more excited, too. Which is a good thing, because the next thing he asks is a little forward:

“Do you already have a best friend?”

Seokmin’s eyes are wide, but he answers, “No,” which isn’t even a lie; Jaehyun got put in the other teacher’s class this year and can only hang out on Saturdays now. He heard Jaehyun’s house has the new Super Smash Brothers _and_ four controllers, though, which Soonyoung will hopefully appreciate. If they get invited, that is.

“Okay!” Soonyoung says, setting his binder down at his feet to grab for Seokmin’s hand. “Then you’re mine!”

Seokmin thinks that might not be so bad a thing to be.

_Seokmin, age fifteen:_ Seokmin’s chest heaves, and Soonyoung is laughing, wiping his face with his tank top. The neon orange is just as bright inside-out. And Soonyoung’s stomach seems to possess several more muscles than Seokmin’s. He never noticed before.

“I’m going to die,” Seokmin whines, throwing himself onto Soonyoung’s bed facefirst. “Why did you tell Jeonghan we could do this? The talent show is this week, Soonyoung!”

Soonyoung’s loose grin lands somewhere between manic and dreamy. “Because he’s _beautiful,_ and if there’s anything we can learn from SHINee it’s that being an entertainer is the way to anyone’s heart. Your voice and my moves? He won’t know what to do with himself!”

Jeonghan does not seem the flusterable type to Seokmin, but he trusts Soonyoung. His confidence never wavers, and he never leads Seokmin astray. Seokmin trusts him, with this and everything else.

Soonyoung drapes himself over Seokmin’s back, fingers tangling with his to wrest the camera from his hands. _Sherlock_ starts again on Soonyoung’s phone, and at this rate, Seokmin thinks he’s going to start breathing in tempo even while he sleeps. If he can breathe at all. 

“Let’s watch that take back again, I think I messed up on the prechorus,” Soonyoung says, clumsy thumbs pressing the buttons to view the camera’s last clip on the little screen. His ankles knock Seokmin’s calves, bare feet pressed up against his legs in their shorts.

When Seokmin turns his head, his periphery catches Soonyoung’s face, focused on the tiny boys in the camera, his eyes following their practiced (Soonyoung) and clumsy (Seokmin) movements. He huffs a little when he sees himself start the move on the wrong foot, but smiles when tiny Seokmin starts singing under his breath, huffing and puffing through the notes.

“Hyung?” Seokmin asks quietly when the clip comes to a close, his hand onscreen blocking the lens as he ends the recording.

“Yeah, Minnie?”

Seokmin turns his head back, stares at the idol posters above Soonyoung’s bed. “Do you really think Jeonghan meant it when he said he would come see us?”

Soonyoung nods firmly. “I don’t think he would have said anything at all unless he meant it.”

That’s reasonable. Jeonghan doesn’t seem the kind of person for platitudes. He’s their senior, handsome and popular and athletic, long beautiful hair blowing in the breeze like some kind of drama love interest. He has all these friends, and so many people chasing after him, but he wouldn’t be cruel. He wouldn’t lie.

Seokmin’s stomach churns every time Jeonghan laughs with his friends in the hall. Once, when Jeonghan was putting his hair up, hair elastic between his teeth and long strands messy between his fingers, Seokmin accidentally hit himself in the face with his locker door. He didn’t know how to name it, how to—how to… 

But Soonyoung did, bounding up to Seokmin after school so they could walk home together, sighing and swooning exaggeratedly but gently asking Seokmin if he thought Jeonghan was cute, what cartoons he might like best, if he saw all the chocolates he received on Valentine’s Day, if he thought, “Maybe after we confess to him we might get something on White Day!”

There is never an _I._ It’s always _we,_ with Soonyoung.

Soonyoung and Seokmin do everything together, after all, including, apparently, having a crush on the same boy. The same popular, cool, probably _experienced_ boy. Oh, no. Seokmin’s skin starts to feel clammy, even aside from the dance sweat.

“Hyung?” Seokmin asks again, quieter still.

Soonyoung’s chin hooks over Seokmin’s shoulder. “Yeah, Minnie?” he hums again, nuzzling his face into Seokmin’s neck.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Soonyoung lets out a little _oof_ when he rolls off Seokmin’s back, pressing himself to his side instead. “No! You’ll be the first one I tell! I promise.”

That’s… not exactly what Seokmin meant by it, but it’s reassuring nonetheless. Seokmin chews on the inside of his cheek, thumbnail playing with the edges of the buttons on his camera. “Jeonghan probably has, lots of times.”

A considering noise, from Soonyoung, then, followed by a silence longer than they’ve ever had since they first became best friends. Seokmin wonders what a heart attack feels like. Maybe he should be paying better attention in Biology.

“You wanna practice?” Soonyoung says, like it’s easy. “That way when Jeonghan wants to, we won’t be too far behind.”

He sounds so confident, so self-assured. The idea feels like a relief. It’s the perfect solution. Seokmin turns his head again, and Soonyoung’s eyes are bright, like the rest of his face. His hand pushes Seokmin’s hair off his forehead, and Seokmin laughs, pressing into Soonyoung’s palm. At the sound, Soonyoung smiles, nose against Seokmin’s, and he closes the gap.

Neither of them end up confessing before the talent show, but Jeonghan cheers the loudest for them anyway, which feels like a victory.

_Seokmin, age seventeen:_ There is another strange vehicle in the driveway, a car this time, and Seokmin smiles and wipes Soonyoung’s tears away. Smiles and says, “It’s just a year. Be there soon. You don’t need to worry about me.” Smiles and makes promises he knows he might not be able to keep, if the chats he’s had with his family about his future are any indication. 

Seokmin smiles and makes sure his phone camera catches Soonyoung’s wave from the passenger seat, tiny lens following his eyes where they look plaintively behind him. 

He smiles until the car disappears at the end of the road, small over the horizon, hits the little red button on the screen again, and cries into his wrist.

_Seokmin, age twenty-one:_ “We’re looking for activated charcoal, which should be in the health and wellness aisle,” Seokmin says into the camera, making sure the frame ends just above where he’s still wearing his scrub pants. He’s grateful for the lack of scent technology in videography, because he doesn’t think fluoride would be a very appealing smell for any of his subscribers. All three thousand of them.

(Three thousand! How did he ever get so lucky?)

He’s just about to hit record again as he scans the aisle for the charcoal, when he stops short. There’s a very familiar figure crouched by the toothpaste, looking uncharacteristically serious as he weighs the pros and cons of generic versus branded. 

Seokmin is used to routine by now: office in the morning, stop by the store on the way home, film in the evenings and on the weekends. Seokmin did not predict the day would find him face-to-face with Kwon Soonyoung again in the middle of a grocery store, the basket next to his kneeling person full of ramyeon cups and twice as many tangerines than any reasonable person could eat.

“I thought you didn’t like that flavor,” Seokmin hears himself saying, and hopes his grin is more casual than his heartbeat makes him think it is.

Soonyoung’s eyes snap up, and it takes him a split second to react, but when he does, he falls back, and now he is just fully sitting in the middle of the health aisle. His face shines, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s been blessed, and Seokmin’s smile feels a little less fake with each passing second.

“Ah, they’re—” 

He cuts himself off with a giggle. Soonyoung’s laughter rings through the store as Seokmin extends a hand to help him up. Soonyoung is strong, and dense, and when his arm flexes to pull himself up it fills out the arm of his t-shirt. An unfamiliar pink flush finds its way up to Soonyoung’s ears, which is new. 

But, Seokmin supposes, this is a new Soonyoung. This is a Soonyoung who said he understood when Seokmin had to attend another university, but whose last sent message on Ka-talk is from Seokmin’s birthday, and it just says, _happy birthday minnie ㅋㅋ_. The Soonyoung that Seokmin remembers — his best friend, the one who lives in the old uploads from school on what’s now his second channel — never got embarrassed like this. 

“Ah. You remember Yoon Jeonghan?”

 _How could I forget?_ Seokmin’s chest feels tight, but his smile doesn’t drop. “Yeah, of course I do.” Soonyoung and Seokmin left high school without boyfriends and without so much as a confession, but it’s not like Seokmin could just _forget._

“Well, rent got raised again, so we’re pulling to try to make ends meet. This is his favorite flavor, and it’s cheaper in bulk, so. _What I did for love,”_ Soonyoung sings, then laughs again. “I think I’m growing to like it, though.”

Seokmin blinks. His cheeks are starting to ache. “You live with Jeonghan-hyung?”

The pink remains high on Soonyoung’s cheeks. “Yeah, we did it like… six months ago? I posted on Instagram, I thought it was maybe vague, but Hannie said it was good.”

 _Hannie?_ “You have Instagram?”

Soonyoung nods, shoves his hand in his pocket for his phone. “Yeah, I followed you when I made it—you have so many followers now, I figured you just didn’t see—I couldn’t figure out how to DM you anyway—ah, here!”

 **_horanghae |_ ** _21 posts, 35 followers, 307 following_

Only four posts back is a photo post with two keys, one regular house key, typical bronze finish, the other one a tiger print, like from the key copier at the store. The caption is just a single heart emoji.

Seokmin’s skin feels hot, and the fluorescent lights feel brighter than usual. His phone is burning a red-hot square in his pocket.

“Jeonghan’s best friend Joshua has the same one,” Soonyoung says, and Seokmin blinks again. He’s gesturing to Seokmin’s camera. “He helps someone with his videos, too. But I told him how you do everything on your own, and he was really impressed. I’m impressed too, obviously, I feel like I talk everyone’s ear off about your videos. Even Minkyung’s boyfriend is subscribed to you, I think.” 

Soonyoung’s face is soft. Pride radiates from him. 

One breath later, Seokmin’s arms are wrapped around him, and Soonyoung’s face is squished into his armpit. His body shakes with laughter for a few seconds, but his arms wrap around Seokmin’s waist, and they’re _them_ again. Easy, like always.

“What are you even doing here?” Soonyoung says, muffled against Seokmin’s t-shirt.

“I work around the corner. Doctor Moon’s office?”

“Aish, that’s so far from your house,” Soonyoung complains. “No wonder I haven’t seen you. You’re working too hard, as usual. So busy.” His hands find Seokmin’s cheeks, and Seokmin leans into the touch without thinking about it. He feels something click back into place, arms still looped around Soonyoung’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to impose, but if you and hyung want or need a roommate, I actually have been looking for apartments around here but haven’t been having much luck. Not to brag, but I’ve been making my kimchi fried rice last a week and a half. Three servings isn’t much more trouble.”

Imposition might be the gentlest possible way to put it. Soonyoung didn’t _ask_ for help, and goodness knows what Jeonghan would say to someone insinuating themself into his relationship, much less a new cohabitation, but it seems harmless enough to ask. It’s more comfortable than offering them money outright, at least, not that Seokmin has all that much to spare. 

It’s mutually beneficial, is all.

Soonyoung seems to agree, because he honest-to-God headbutts Seokmin. Shocked, Seokmin squawks unintelligibly, but Soonyoung presses a warm little peck to his forehead and barrels on. “Why didn't you say anything before? That’s the perfect solution! I’ll make up a key for you, what color do you want? Wait. Never mind. Let me surprise you, okay?”

“Okay,” Seokmin laughs, and lets his smile settle. Soonyoung is good at surprising him, after all.

_•_

_DK TRIES: SLIME TUTORIAL (FOR REAL. NOT AN XCALIBUR BOOTLEG. DON’T COPYRIGHT CLAIM ME. ALSO IF YOU HAVE ONE EMAIL ME)_

“Oh, it’s sticky,” Jeonghan mutters, frowning at the gloopy mess between his fingers, a tentative arm’s length away from Seokmin’s setup. He sinks his fingertips in deeper, then seems to change his mind instantly, his face contorting with regret.

Seokmin laughs, pouring the baby oil onto Jeonghan’s hands. “Here, this’ll get it off.”

“Your dedication to your craft is admirable.” Nose still wrinkled, Jeonghan swallows, rubbing his hands together, relief melting over his features when the slime starts to detach itself from his skin. He watches the glitter descend, a rainfall of shimmer. “It’s pretty, though. You did a really good job.”

“Let’s hope my subscribers think so. Leave a comment if you think I should do this again!”

Jeonghan freezes, the alphabet-bead slime slowly glooping off his hand back onto the countertop, a clam to the ocean, and whispers through his teeth, “You’re filming?”

He had wandered out to the dining area to watch Seokmin play around with contact lens solution and shaving cream and glue and beads and glitter, sitting backwards on the desk chair by the computer and listening to him hum to himself. It’s nice, with Jeonghan.

It used to be… less nice, when Seokmin first moved in and he didn’t know how to reconcile the almost untouchable Jeonghan that lived in his mind for over seven years with the clever, affectionate Jeonghan who plays with Soonyoung’s hair when they watch movies. But slow-motion hallway-scene Jeonghan _is_ the Jeonghan who yells as much as he physically can at the television during Masked Singer and lets his hair go greasy between washes, the Jeonghan who gets handsy after a few beers and tucks in his t-shirt with jeans and a belt. He brings home pizza and smells like the library. He kisses Soonyoung hello and feeds Seokmin a breadstick.

It’s nice, now. 

He plays with Seokmin’s hair when Seokmin is editing on his laptop on the living room floor, asking Seokmin to put in a particular sound effect and laughing too close to his ear. 

Sometimes Seokmin is surprised by how much of Soonyoung and Jeonghan has woven itself into his videos, remembers it in those moments. Soonyoung likes to contribute fairly frequently, so much so that commenters often request him specifically, especially for creative ideas and challenge videos. Jeonghan, on the other hand, is of rare onscreen appearance, trying his vegan cuisine or other experiments from a safe distance behind the tripod, smiling with his eyes and all of his teeth when Seokmin makes Soonyoung laugh, and doesn’t even tease for that long when they have to eat the spoils of his labor for worklunch the rest of the week.

“Ah, hyung, I’m sorry, I thought you heard me talking earlier.”

“I thought you were singing,” Jeonghan says quietly. “You were humming and talking to me when I came in, so I thought… ah. I’m sorry if I ruined your video.”

“I can cut around you and put music over where you’re talking, but only if you want.” The quiet concession seems a little less serious, accompanied by a little _squelch_ as Seokmin coaxes the first of… way too many slimes into its little container. Why did he make this many?

“It’s okay,” Jeonghan says, using a container lid to scoot a pile of fluffy slime back and forth across the table. “I heard Hansol and Chan shouted you out. That’s amazing, Seok.”

It’s weird to think about the fact that there are people two degrees of separation from him that he looks up to, who are his age, who aren’t Eomma calling him _honest_ and _sweet,_ saying in DMs that he’s screenshot that his subscriber count doesn’t matter, they can tell he’s One of the Good Ones. Seokmin blushes and swallows around where his throat is starting to feel thick, blinking quickly to keep any embarrassing noises at bay. He did his crying about it when his subscriber count hit 50,000, then 75,000, soaking his pillowcase with every retweet and _Congrats, man! Well-deserved! This guy’s the real deal, real good energy._

“I can’t believe it, honestly,” Seokmin admits.

Jeonghan makes a dissatisfied little noise. His eyes look straight through Seokmin. “You work so hard. You give everything to everything and everyone all the time. Of course they love you.”

Seokmin fidgets, laughs a little. “Well, they did say they’d love to meet up sometime—”

“Now hold on,” Jeonghan says, gaze sharpening a little. He opens his mouth to say something else, but seems to think better of it, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip and coaxing the slime into its container for good.

“Oh, you’re probably right,” says Seokmin quietly.

“Wait.” Jeonghan scrubs at his temple with the back of his wrist. “I just mean maybe Soonie and I could go with you. If you wanted. Since you’re so excited about it. From what I can tell from the few times I’ve met him, Hansol’s a good kid, and he seems to worship the ground his boyfriend dances on. But not everybody’s like that.”

“Thank you, Jeonghan. For looking out for me. You make, ah, my videos better.”

The silence lingers, punctuated by the noise of the slime suction. Seokmin turns to Jeonghan with a grin and sees him looking at him already, his own cheeks pink like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing. 

Which is funny, because Jeonghan often acts like he’s getting away with something when he’s not; Soonyoung almost always indulges him. And so too does Seokmin, now that he thinks about it.

“Well, obviously,” Jeonghan sniffs, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. It’s cute, almost bashful for Jeonghan.

Seokmin laughs. “I mean it. You don’t want to know what kind of comments people leave about you.”

Jeonghan leans forward onto his elbows, looks deeply into Seokmin’s eyes, and says, “Well, now I have to know what kind of comments people are leaving about me.”

Lids snap onto slime containers, and Seokmin swipes glitter glue and sticky beads off the counter into the trash with his hands, and Seokmin dodges the request. “Aah, hyung, I don’t know if you can handle it…”

“I can handle anything!”

“I don’t know, hyung—ah!” Seokmin squeaks, Jeonghan’s hands shoving up his shirt to get at his sides where he’s ticklish. “Hyung!”

Jeonghan’s face is squished into the crook of Seokmin’s neck, and his hands tug at Seokmin’s shirt. He smells like library books and it’s Saturday. His job never really leaves him, the warm comfort of it built into his body now, all the wit and silver tongue and homeyness of it. “Seok-ah… Seokminnie-yah… What do they say?” His voice is sweet, curling like cinnamon sugar over the prying, and Seokmin laughs over the way his adrenaline is spiking.

“Seokmin has integrity, hyung, you’ll never get it out of him,” giggles Soonyoung from the doorway, backpack at his feet, and Seokmin feels every blood cell in his body vibrate in place. Jeonghan doesn’t extricate himself from him, either, and both of them are freckled with colored glue, hands sticky with it.

“That’s right!” Seokmin manages, nudging at Jeonghan with a shoulder.

“But I’m not as tough to crack.” Soonyoung’s face is smug and proud, eyes moving over Jeonghan and Seokmin. His tongue catches between his teeth. “They think you’re _gorgeous,_ like an _angel,”_ he says in a coo.

“They say you should be in every video, hyung,” Seokmin murmurs. For the first time he finds it impossible to project any louder.

The knobs of Jeonghan’s fingers catch Seokmin’s waist, and a softer hand finds his other side. He swallows back the part of his mind that screams at him that this isn’t— _is this what friends do?_ It's what he and Soonyoung have always done, and Lord if that doesn’t raise more questions than it answers— and just lets himself smile when Soonyoung kisses half of Jeonghan’s mouth and fits his head under the other side of Seokmin’s jaw. Soonyoung’s free hand thumbs at the stray glue that’s made itself known in Jeonghan’s eyebrow.

“I’ll leave that to you, I think. Too messy,” Jeonghan says, face screwing up at Soonyoung pressing his fingertips together and playing with the glue.

Seokmin makes himself laugh and wiggles free, reaching for the perilously high stack of slime tubs. “I think you’re right.”

_•_

_DK TRIES: THRIFT FLIP CHALLENGE (FEAT. M &M LTD GIVEAWAY!) _

It’ll look better on.

That’s something people say, right? Or, at least Seokmin hopes it is. 

“Why does the seam look so messy?” Seokmin holds the back of the shirt toward his phone’s camera, hoping the overhead light is bright enough to illuminate what feels like a very wrong turn of events.

Mingyu’s loud, squeaky giggle is choppy through the wifi, and Minghao says over it, “You sewed it wrong sides together, so the seam allowance is on the outside.”

Flushing, Seokmin lets out a long whine. His head _thunks_ on the kitchen table, and he thinks a button is making a fossil of itself in the meat of his cheek. “It took me an hour just to pin it!”

“You’re doing well!” Minghao says gently. “Exposed seams are in fashion right now, too, actually. Off-White has streetwear, Xu Zhi did jeans, Thom Browne in menswear… Raw edges and the unfinished look can work for you, especially in the fabrics you chose.”

“Be confident!” Mingyu grins, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip. His face fills the screen camera to case and Seokmin laughs, lifting his head. “Your hair and makeup already look amazing. And if you pair it with some nice-fitting trousers, it’ll show a cool side, too, not too put-together. You’re going to break hearts tonight!”

It’s all a little overwhelming, but Seokmin hangs up feeling cautiously optimistic. 

Seokmin is a live wire. Maybe all the petals of the sunflowers in his new logo should be caution-tape yellow instead of the buttery sun color he’d been drawn to. 

(Minghao might like that, actually. Seokmin should send him a customized one; it had everyone screaming in the comments on Instagram when he and Mingyu started posting sunflower-inspired outfits this week, anyway, it seems only fair to repay the favor.)

Everything feels electric and floral, this buzzing under Seokmin’s skin something he is increasingly unable to chase away. An invitation to a networking event for creators in the city is no small deal, and Minghao and Mingyu’s experience is not only a great draw for the channel but has done wonders at calming some of his frazzled nerves, which have been sparking for myriad reasons all day.

When Soonyoung bursts into the room, his deep-orange dress pants are still unbuttoned, and there’s a shimmery smear down the center of his chest. Every single muscle of his torso is catching the light. Seokmin expects a sparkling palm from Jeonghan when he also emerges eventually. Soonyoung’s face looks a little stressed, and Seokmin smiles up at him from the kitchen table. The smile smooths out Soonyoung’s eyebrows a little.

“Oh, Soonyoung, you should wear—”

“The shirt?”

“Of course, the shirt!” 

“Oh, thank God,” Soonyoung sighs, his whole face lighting up like the sun.

Like the moon reflecting its rays Seokmin beams back, and after a curt nod, Soonyoung runs back into their bedroom, the clack of hangers and the sound of Jeonghan’s high, lilting laughter echoing in the dining area where Seokmin sits alone.

Mere minutes later Soonyoung is triumphantly bounding back out clad in top to bottom tiger print, pants clinging to his thighs and shirt tastefully unbuttoned, only a hand’s width of shimmer visible now. And unfortunately Seokmin doesn’t have the luxury of catching his breath before Jeonghan saunters out behind Soonyoung, all trim black pants and a white button-down.

They’re two very different and equally devastating fashion plates. Seokmin doesn’t know how Mingyu and Minghao deal with this kind of thing. Probably somewhere between ‘thoroughly communicated’ and ‘well-adjusted,’ neither of which are concepts Seokmin is all that familiar with.

For now, Seokmin lets his surface emotions win, and whoops and whistles at them. “I give up. You go on without me. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and I think you just outwrote _War and Peace.”_

Jeonghan preens, finding his light, Soonyoung winks and puts a hand up in a tiger’s claw, and Seokmin lets himself sigh dreamily out loud. Honesty sells, and Seokmin is nothing if not too forthcoming with an audience.

“Show us your outfit, Seokminnie,” Soonyoung insists, bouncing on his heels. “If you change quick we can help take your outfit shots before the light turns.”

Catching Seokmin’s wince and the way he moves the fabric between his hands, balled up, Jeonghan strides closer. “Ah, ah, you’re going to wrinkle it. Shirt off, baby.”

Seokmin laughs weakly and sighs again, hoping the rush of cold air will smother the flame that turn of phrase ignited in him, but pulls his t-shirt off by the back of the neck and gasps in surprise when Jeonghan’s hand slides over his collarbone, shoulder to bare shoulder.

“Hyung!”

“You have to match us,” Jeonghan says simply, fluttering his shimmery fingers as he turns away.

From his perch on the back of the sofa Soonyoung giggles, and Seokmin prays his fingers don’t slip as he buttons up his DIY project, too-fast. He shoves his hands as shallowly into his waistband as possible to tuck it in and says, “Well?”

The look Soonyoung and Jeonghan share is indecipherable.

_•_

_DK TRIES: CREATOR WEEK & RECAP! _

Seokmin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

He brought his camera, but there are _industry professionals_ here, and he doesn’t want to be _that guy_ when he already feels so massively out of place.

Not only that, but Seokmin is overcome by a strange feeling, knowing that somewhere around here, Soonyoung and Jeonghan are enjoying themselves, with the tiny desserts and the free champagne and the beautiful and handsome media people surrounding them. The last place Seokmin went that served free alcohol was his cousin’s wedding, and there was a lot less pressure to please, then.

Well, on second thought, was there really?

“Excuse me, are you Dokyeom?”

Seokmin’s head whips around. He catches his exaggerated motion and laughs at himself, the smile on the face of the middle-aged man in front of him somewhere between amused and placid. “Ah—yes, hello. Lee Seokmin, Dokyeom professionally.” He bows, then holds out a hand to shake.

“Cho Seojeong, EMK Musical Company.”

“Oh!” Seokmin says, hoping his face doesn’t look too overwhelmed and thinking he might be failing miserably.

In fact, he knows he’s failed miserably when Seojeong laughs and pats his shoulder, casual and personal. It’s a little patronizing, but in that manageable way where Seokmin knows this man has connections, and he genuinely has a lot to learn about, well, any industry, before he can start judging anyone.

_God. What am I doing here?_

“One of my colleagues sent our team your video, your _Can it Be?,_ and I have to admit it, with a little training I think you could really be something special.”

“Wow, thank you very much. I‘m lacking a lot, but it’s a hobby I’ve loved for a long time.”

“Not to mention the viral audience you have, drawing that to the theatre? That’s not nothing in today’s economy. It works wonders in the States, on Broadway, kids from YouTube or Instagram extending runs for weeks, carrying shows into the summer season. Not exactly how things work on fixed runs, but if we can do it with idols…?” Seojeong shrugs, an unspoken, _Why not you?_

The suggestion lingers in the space between them, and Seokmin’s next breath is short. Seojeong wouldn’t be saying anything if they hadn’t thought about it already. He gets the feeling that there are a lot of false promises being made in this room, probably have been all weekend at this conference, but this doesn’t feel at all like that.

The skin between his eyebrows aches, a wrinkle of disbelief. Maybe he’ll let himself feel excitement soon.

“That would be—”

Jeonghan’s voice cuts through, cleaving his sentence in two, “Seok-ah!”

Seokmin turns, face brightening. “Jeonghan! This is—”

“Seokmin, will you come with me? Soonyoung is upstairs, outside.” Jeonghan is avoiding eye contact, but wraps his fingers around Seokmin’s elbow, moving close to his body, the front of Jeonghan’s shoulder nudging his shoulderblade. His foot knocks against Seokmin’s.

“Oh. This sounds serious. I’m so sorry, Seojeong-nim. I would love to talk further sometime…”

“I understand,” Seojeong says gamely, handing Seokmin a business card. He receives it with two hands, hoping his face looks appropriately awed and grateful. His whole chest feels lit up with possibility. “Please give us a call and we can set something up.”

“Thank you. I will.” Seokmin nods, bows, tries not to let pressure compress his shoulders any worse, and follows Jeonghan to the entry hall and up the stairs. 

His hand is cool and soft, and his thumb catches on the inside of Seokmin’s elbow. His feet are light but slow when they climb the stairs, in comparison to Seokmin’s quick and heavy footfall. Urgent.

“Wait, hyung, what is it? Is Soonyoung okay? What’s going on?”

Jeonghan stalls at the next landing of the stairwell, hand on the push-handle of the door leading outside. His silence speaks volumes, and Seokmin sees his jaw lock tight.

“I was in the middle of something,” Seokmin says quietly. Open-ended, giving Jeonghan space to take what he needs out of it.

“Yeah, but you can’t tell me anyone down there was any fun.” 

Jeonghan pushes open the door with both hands. He holds it open for Seokmin, who walks through it backward, trying to catch Jeonghan’s eye. At least Soonyoung is, as promised, up here, sitting on a bench, three glasses of champagne beside him on the concrete slab, but he doesn’t stand, probably due to the terseness of Seokmin’s reply.

“What do you mean? It doesn’t matter if they’re _fun,_ Jeonghan. They’re professionals. I was networking. When you _whisked_ _me away_ I was talking with Cho Seojeong-nim!”

“And?”

Seokmin laughs, incredulous. “He’s from EMK, hyung! They put on musicals, big ones! Like Suho and Kyuhyun and actor Kai big!”

“...and?” Jeonghan repeats, pressing his fingers together. His face is drawn, and Seokmin can see him running his tongue over his teeth. 

Soonyoung’s smile drops in his periphery, and he stands now, approaching tentatively, mouth small and worried. Seokmin doesn’t have the energy to wonder if he’s chewing on the side of his cheek like he used to.

“And I wanted to talk to him! He came up to me! It sounded like he wanted to offer me… I don’t know! An audition, or a job, maybe, I didn’t get the chance to ask. Why are you acting like this?”

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t be happy—”

Seokmin could laugh, and keep laughing. Where has he heard this before? Maybe from his father, as Seokmin dropped what few theatre classes he was taking at university to focus on pre-dental science, or from multi-channel networks saying _you just don’t have the influence to be a creator worth taking a risk on, sorry._ Seokmin has heard it. 

He just never expected to hear it from Jeonghan.

Jeonghan _supports_ him. He and Soonyoung have been in his corner from day one. What—what gives him the right? 

“You don’t—you don’t get to _decide_ for me, hyung! This could be a big opportunity for me!”

“You don’t know what these people are capable of. Like you said, he came up to you first. People have ulterior motives. They can take advantage of you! They could hurt you!”

“Okay? So could Doctor Moon. So could a taxi driver. So could you.” Seokmin blinks hard, wanting to swallow that last one back, too-close to an exposed nerve. Unfamiliar as it is, he can feel his face arranging itself into a scowl. “Hyung, I was fine for years without you being my _guardian angel,_ you know. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“This isn’t about me, Seokmin, this is about you!”

 _“Everything_ is about you,” Seokmin laughs, loud, now. He feels like he’s a few stories up from hysterical. He throws a hand to the skyline, where their neighborhood lies somewhere in the distance. Where their home lies empty while they’re here. His home is here, and they’re frowning at him. Seokmin’s chest aches in his upcycled shirt. “Soonyoung knows it.”

“Soonie-yah, what is he talking about?” Jeonghan’s voice is tight, like he’s trying to stay calm. Every time he blinks it’s heavy. Seokmin avoids his gaze, goes for Soonyoung’s instead. It still cleaves him in half, but feels a little less like steel.

Soonyoung’s hands are flexing, restless like he always is. “Minnie,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches for Seokmin, and the stupid part of his brain, the one where _best friendship_ and _trust_ get transfigured into _hope_ and _love,_ lets Soonyoung’s hand tuck itself under his jacket and pull him close by the waist. “Still?”

Embarrassment flushes through Seokmin. “Thought I was over it.”

And how foolish, to think he could just stop being in love with them, that he could compartmentalize the crush he had on Jeonghan all those years ago into something easier to manage, that he could believe it a little less when Soonyoung calls Seokmin his soulmate.

Things had just magnified when it was Jeonghan _and_ Soonyoung, suddenly, in _their_ home together, the one all three of them share. All their decidedly unhelpful dancing in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, turning the corner from silly to dirty as Seokmin flips pancakes not a meter away. Barely-muffled moans winding under the closed door, sweet nothings and high-pitched whimpers that ended up with both trashed footage after hours of fruitless attempts at sound rebalancing and one of Seokmin’s fists pressed to the cool tile of the shower as he tries to get it out of his head. The easy way they just _are_ with each other, cute and supportive and thoughtful, their smiles that become just that much more adoring when they’re turned on each other. 

It was fine. Seokmin thought he was handling it.

 _DK Tries._ He’s _been_ trying. And it hasn’t been working; here he is, arguing for them to stop taking care of him when he never wants them to stop taking care of him. Never wanted that. Frustration roils through Seokmin, burning up his chest to his throat, and still he goes softly into Soonyoung’s embrace. Still he wants Jeonghan’s forehead pressed against his. 

He wants Jeonghan’s mouth pressed against his. He wants Soonyoung’s mouth pressed against his. He wants—

“Hyung,” Seokmin says, and he’s crying, on the biggest night of his life so far he’s crying, because of course he is, and when he blinks to get some of the water out of his eyes, Jeonghan’s face swims into view.

“My baby.”

“Not,” Seokmin sobs, “I’m not a baby!”

Jeonghan is so beautiful, even when he’s sad like this, something shining pooling in the corners of his eyes. Ingrid Bergman tears, tastefully held until he needs them. Soonyoung is sniffling, too, messy but pretty, his perpetual descriptor.

Seokmin’s own face feels like a waterfall of snot, contorted into something gross.

The pads of Jeonghan’s thumbs brush under Seokmin’s eyes, gentle like petals on his cheekbones, and the look on his face is so soft, lips parted like a perpetual inhale. He’s looking at Seokmin like… like… 

Seokmin yanks his body back and hears Soonyoung’s little _oof!,_ but feels his arms tighten around Seokmin’s waist, ever-protective. “If you kiss me while I’m crying—! While I’m _mad_ at you—! I will never, ever, ever forgive you, Yoon Jeonghan!” 

He hopes it comes out as serious as he means it, despite his whole body wanting to melt into Soonyoung’s embrace, or to hurl itself into Jeonghan’s. Seokmin needs to take care of himself, too.

Oh. He hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s been letting Soonyoung and Jeonghan do it for him, or having nothing at all.

That sits like a lead weight in Seokmin’s stomach, dropping like an anchor. It clears the tears almost instantly.

“We wouldn’t,” says Soonyoung quietly, lips almost brushing Seokmin’s ear. “You deserve better than that.”

“What are you saying, then? That you just let me feel this way alone when you knew? When you knew the whole time and you—felt?”

Jeonghan runs both hands through his hair, sighs. “Well, I had hoped! I—we wished! Soonyoung and I wanted… We _talked_ about…”

“And you never thought to involve me in any of these _talks,_ hyung?” Seokmin’s hand pries Soonyoung’s off his waist. He takes a deep breath. “I love you, but I, I think I need to think about this.”

“We love you, Minnie,” Soonyoung says, tightly and wetly.

Laughing quietly, Seokmin presses a kiss to Soonyoung’s cheek. “I know.” And he does, strangely enough, wholly and completely, for the first time, know it. “I’ll see you at home.”

_•_

_DK TRIES: MY FIRST PLAY BUTTON!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!_

He almost misses it, when it changes.

Seokmin has spent his whole life wanting everything to stay the same. And when it inevitably changes, he balks at first, but then he adjusts, slowly or all at once, and then decides that actually, _now_ everything is perfect, and it should stay the same forever, just like this.

But things keep changing. Always have, always will. And Seokmin thinks he’s finally learning to embrace it.

He sees the box first, torn open, messy corrugated edges sticking out of the recycling bin Soonyoung insisted they get. It’s not flattened, telltale Jeonghan impatience, and it makes Seokmin smile a little at his feet. His name is the one on the label. His smile freezes in place. The contents are nowhere to be found, until he turns around and sees it above the television in the living room.

A rectangular silver plaque, shiny button in the middle. Hung right in the middle of the wall.

There’s a bright neon orange sticky note next to it, and Seokmin’s nose is almost touching the wall when he reads it.

_100,000 is a big number. But you’re number one. Don’t ever forget that. We’re sorry we did._

_We love you._

“What’s that?” Soonyoung says behind him.

Seokmin startles, note clutched like a lifeline between his fingers when he whirls around to see Soonyoung and Jeonghan standing on the other side of the couch, holding a cake, frosted meticulously with a clumsy red play button on top. Soonyoung is beaming. There’s frosting in his hair. Jeonghan’s smile is unmistakable, his cheeks streaked with teartracks, shed probably mere minutes before Seokmin got home.

“Got you. Should have seen your face,” Soonyoung teases. “Come look at your cake before we drop it, it’s heavy.”

Seokmin laughs, and he realizes he’s crying a little, too. He pulls at the collar of his scrub top to wipe at his eyes. “Put it on the table! There’s no reason to risk perfectly good cake like this. Unless Jeonghan made it, in which case it’s beautiful but inedible anyway.”

Jeonghan’s laugh bursts out of him like he didn’t mean to let it loose in the first place, and he tries to press his face into Soonyoung’s cheek to hide. The light in Seokmin’s chest feels incandescent.

“You deserve to take a picture with it, at least, then,” Soonyoung says, cheeks round with glee.

By the time Seokmin drops his bag on the couch and rounds the room to the table, the cake is safely on the table, and all it takes are two outstretched arms to tug Soonyoung and Jeonghan bodily into his chest, hands at the backs of their heads and foreheads pressed into his cheeks, mirrors of each other. They even inhale at the same time, Soonyoung’s hands worming under the hem of Seokmin’s shirt, to do nothing but press closer, Jeonghan’s fisting in the fabric. Three musketeers.

“Are we okay?” Seokmin asks against the crown of Jeonghan’s head.

Jeonghan mumbles something into the crook of Seokmin’s neck, his warm breath ghosting down blue collar, lips brushing skin. When Seokmin doesn’t reply, Jeonghan pulls back just a little. “Why are you the one asking? You didn’t do anything wrong, Seok-ah. I’m so sorry.”

Soonyoung extricates himself completely, then, pushing the cake out of the way so he can lift himself up to sit on the edge of the table, feet dangling off the side. “Me too.”

Seokmin sighs. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to make this their career. We both know that. Shua-hyung still works for those wedding videographers and at least that’s _kind of_ in his field. You were just trying to protect me. I get it. It’s okay.” He sticks the note to the edge of a chair to prevent himself from playing with it. He wants to keep it forever and doesn’t want to wring at it.

“I know, but it wasn’t fair,” Jeonghan says, stepping back a little more. Both of his hands are still clutching Seokmin’s shirt, his thumbs moving on the fabric. “Obviously it wasn’t just about that. It was about—you know. The rest of it.”

“I mean.” Seokmin shrugs. “You can’t tell me I wasn’t obvious about how much I wanted you.”

Soonyoung’s smile turns a little wistful. “That part’s on me, I think. We, Jeonghan and I, we talked about how everything used to be, and I kept convincing myself that maybe now it was only wishful thinking, and we just kept working ourselves up over it—” Seokmin lets out a choked noise, and Jeonghan turns a gorgeous, unexpected shade of pale pink, and Soonyoung grins sheepishly but goes on, “—so I just. I don’t know. I hold onto feelings for a long time. And you’ve been you forever. You and Jeonghan are even better _yous_ now than you were back then. My feelings grew.”

“I know what you mean,” Seokmin says, smiling at Jeonghan at close range just to watch his face spin through a few different emotions. 

Jeonghan lets go of his scrubs and leans against the table next to Soonyoung.

“You were patient and good and kind with us, with me, and I repaid you with jealousy,” Jeonghan says with a frown. “I don’t want to take over your life. I just want to be a part of it. If you’ll let me.”

Like a confession Seokmin says, “You’ve always been a part of it, hyung.”

“We’ve been in love for like ten years, Hannie, you’re the one we had to wait to let catch up,” Soonyoung says, fingers threading through Jeonghan’s.

Instead of denying it, Seokmin laughs, and for the first time in probably the entirety of those ten years, the accompanying blush isn’t from shame. He likes the way it feels. Like he can breathe. 

What’s more, Seokmin doesn’t know if he ever admitted it to himself, at least not simple and plain like that. He likes it better in Soonyoung’s voice, anyway.

“Thanks for waiting for me, then,” Jeonghan complains, no heat behind it, scrunching his nose and swiping frosting of indeterminate origin across Soonyoung’s cheek. Soonyoung shouts, but Jeonghan ducks out of the way of his hand, hiding behind Seokmin. “Human shield. Works every time.”

His hands are moving on Seokmin, though, slow and full-palmed over the slope of Seokmin’s back, exploratory and purposeful, and Seokmin shivers. “Ah, something you want to tell me, hyung?”

“No,” Jeonghan mutters, and Seokmin laughs, taking steps toward Soonyoung instead, whose tongue is darting out to try to lick the frosting off his own cheek.

“I hope this is from the back of the cake. What will Minnie film if it’s got a chunk taken out of it?” It comes out a little garbled. 

Seokmin’s thumb picks up the frosting, the pad of it finding a familiar path over Soonyoung’s skin, much like Jeonghan’s had before him. He thinks they both have probably mapped sense memories to last a lifetime with Soonyoung, one after the other. Something in him sparks with the idea of overlap, unfurling in his stomach like a banner, turning like a pinwheel. His thumb finds its way onto his tongue, bursting sweet with sugar.

Soonyoung’s eyes are glued to his mouth, Jeonghan’s next breath is shaky, and Seokmin feels brave. “If we’re doing this, it’s all in,” he says, his body buzzing with more than sugar. “I can’t do this halfway.”

“All in,” Jeonghan echoes, settling his hands on Seokmin’s hips and chin hooking over his shoulder to meet Soonyoung’s eyes.

The smile Soonyoung gives Jeonghan, then Seokmin, is radiant. “All in.” His hands land on Seokmin’s waist too, fingers slipping into the gaps between Jeonghan’s. “When we get a time machine, fifteen-year-old us will never believe this.” Soonyoung’s feet nudge Seokmin closer, crowding him as well as Jeonghan at his back between his legs.

Seokmin giggles. “I have a list of the things we’ll do when we get a time machine.”

“I hope this is one of them,” Soonyoung breathes, eyes crescents and fingers tapping gently but restlessly against Seokmin’s sides.

“Second time’s the charm,” murmurs Jeonghan as Soonyoung stretches the top half of his body up to kiss Seokmin.

Every day Seokmin wishes he had committed to memory the feeling of Soonyoung’s mouth on his from that day, gentle and nervous in Soonyoung’s racecar-print bed, but he thinks now that he shouldn’t have any regrets, that this is infinitely better, more sure, with the weight of their history behind it. One of Soonyoung’s hands comes to his shoulder to help him lean up, pulling Seokmin close against his dense little body, mouth sliding on his like he knows just how many years they’ve wasted.

_It wasn’t a waste._

Soonyoung’s thighs are lean and strong around him, keeping him against him. They’re finding each other again, relearning everything, recalibrating with each touch. They’re smiling too much to deepen it, but it’s better this way. 

Things start to slow down after a few minutes, Seokmin and Soonyoung pressing long, languid, soft little kisses against each other. Soonyoung’s lips are so soft. Tentative, more of a tease than anything, Seokmin presses his teeth to Soonyoung’s bottom lip and he squirms, which. _God._

Seokmin breaks away, then, to laugh quietly, to turn and press his face into Soonyoung’s palm, snug like a baseball in a mitt, to inhale the scent of sugar and sweat and Soonyoung, and listen to Jeonghan’s labored, hitched breathing behind him. 

It only takes half a step to turn. Seokmin leans his forehead against Jeonghan’s, noses touching. Seokmin knows theoretically that he’s spent most of his life smiling, but right now he can’t imagine ever stopping. 

“All in?” Seokmin murmurs, and before he knows it Jeonghan’s fists are in his shirt and he’s crashing their lips together, desperate and longing and _good,_ muttering little apologies and praises and _I’ve been imagining that for months, years, maybe_ over his tongue that zing straight down Seokmin’s spine, electric-bright sunflowers blooming in his chest. Fuck, Jeonghan can kiss. Seokmin lets his mind run wild, fills in the footage he erased from his memory card and oh, he _wants._ Jeonghan licks into his mouth and Seokmin melts, each kiss deeper than the last, and when Jeonghan finally lets him go an eternity later his eyes are wide but he’s beaming brighter than Seokmin’s ever seen him.

“All in,” Jeonghan huffs, like Soonyoung and Seokmin were holding him back from saying it. Seokmin wonders if they were, a little, for a while, even if they didn’t know it.

Seokmin feels dazed, and Jeonghan keeps looking at him like he wants to eat him alive. He’d probably let him.

Wait. He’s working on this. Seokmin will allow Jeonghan one bite. “What?”

“You have to change out of your scrubs,” Soonyoung says as explanation, fanning his stomach with the bottom of his shirt despite the fact that this apartment has central air and heating. A rarity, but Seokmin had insisted. “For our health and safety.”

“I’m a dental assistant, not a nurse,” Seokmin laughs.

“The effect is the same, even if you smell like fluoride!” Jeonghan whines, falling into a chair at the table like the sight of Seokmin, mouth swollen from kisses, physically pains him. “Get out of here!”

“Okay, okay,” Seokmin says, and presses a gentle kiss to each of their lips, because he can. The bare delight on their faces carries him into his bedroom effortlessly, like he’s floating.

As he shuffles out of his scrubs and into jeans and a t-shirt, Seokmin thinks that all of this just feels… right. He’s spent his whole life taking care of others at his own expense, and he’s really starting to believe that giving too much of himself, sacrificing his wholeness for others, isn’t as rewarding as sharing his wholeness with them. His family, his audience, his Jeonghan and Soonyoung…

He’s learning. And it feels good.

When Seokmin emerges again, the tripod is already set up, the plaque propped up on the table, and the cake front and center. The orange sticky note pokes out of the chest pocket of Jeonghan’s shirt, and his face splits open in a smile at the sight of it.

“Come on! Sit down! You gotta film something at least, and I want to eat _caaaaake,”_ Soonyoung says, wiggling in his seat.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think this was your channel.”

“Oh, please. I forgot the password to my channel a long time ago.” Soonyoung waves a dismissive hand, and Seokmin makes a mental note to come back to that later.

Jeonghan tugs Seokmin down by the hand into the seat beside him, and Soonyoung squeezes his other hand where it rests atop the table.

Seokmin beams into the lens.

It’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung and Seokmin, and his camera.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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